


the pack survives

by myriddin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Politics, Protective Siblings, Queen in the North, Sibling Love, The King in The North, implied/referenced trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7984648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bran realizes he doesn't have to shoulder the burden of ruling alone, i.e. the Stark siblings turn the North into an oligarchy. </p><p>Inspired by these photosets: http://thegoldofwinterfell.tumblr.com/post/129590297048/post-canonau-the-kings-and-queens-of-winter</p><p>http://sparklehorsette.tumblr.com/post/132260141772/endgame-the-kings-and-queens-of-the-north-all</p>
            </blockquote>





	the pack survives

The wars were over- the Dawn had returned, the Iron Throne was destroyed by the same flame that had forged it- spring was not far, and House Stark had returned to Winterfell. Bran Stark had reaped his reward for his part in the destruction of the Great Other, striking a bargain with the gods for his mortality. Fifty more years to live and love before he surrendered to his fate and returned to become the next Greenseer.

Sitting in his lord father’s chair, his brother’s crown heavy upon his brow, Bran became more aware with each passing day of the burden now resting upon his shoulders. His lands were in ruins, his people were disheartened, and the nobles were looking to Winterfell for stability and reassurance. Had that been Robb’s failing, he wondered? Had his brother been drowned by duty, by the reality that despite everything, he was still just a boy? Had the Frey betrayal just been the killing blow?

The Greatjon had told him recently he would be hard-pressed to find a loyal man or woman in the North who didn’t feel he hadn’t failed his lord and his king. Bran wondered if they realized that feeling echoed in all those who still bore the name Stark. The shame in Sansa’s eyes when she told them of their father’s arrest, Arya’s rage and guilt as she recounted what had happened at the Twins, Jon’s stricken face as he confessed to once nearly abandoning the Watch for Robb’s cause, and how he regretted the decision not to go through with it every day.  
  
They had only been children then, helpless to stop anything that happened, but they weren’t children any longer. Most of all, they weren’t alone. _He_ wasn’t alone.

One day he called his siblings into his solar and asked a simple question. “What makes a good ruler?”

Arya’s face grew alarmingly blank and her eyes filled with shadows. “Justice,” she hissed, Nymeria bristling at her feet in feral parallel.

Sansa, exchanging a thoughtful look with Jon, reached out to place her hand over Arya’s. Jon followed her example, his hand heavy and calloused, but no less comforting, as it came to rest on Arya’s shoulder. A few of the shadows receded and she reached for Needle’s hilt, grounded by its presence.

Sansa turned back to her kingly brother, her face smooth and impassive as she stated evenly, “Knowledge, brother. That is what makes a good ruler.”

Rickon humphed, crossing his arms across his chest. “Strength is what you need, Bran. Strength, steel, and the gumption to use them.” 

 “Wisdom is my say,” Bran said, “And I have decided it is time to make a wise choice.” He smiled softly, spreading his hands in a gesture of accentuation. “There needs to be a balance. One person cannot do this alone.”

“And what is ‘this’, Bran?” Sansa asked him gently.

“Rule.”

The North was of the old gods, he told them. They would not implement a small council, but the basic functions had merit. He was touched by the gods, able to connect and channel the knowledge of those who had come before, and he would try his best to be wise, but he would need help.

They would need a justiciar. Bran’s eyes went to Arya, and he was relieved to see she looked pleased. A seneschal; Sansa’s gaze locked with his, and she understood what he didn’t say- _spymaster_. A commander- Rickon drew himself up proudly when he met his brother’s eyes.

Sansa smiled and nudged Jon’s shoulder. “And everyone needs a protector…even kings and queens.” Jon smiled back, one of those full, deep smiles they rarely saw but treasured when they came.

Arya’s answering grin was as wolfish as they came. “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies-“

“But the pack survives!” Rickon interjected boisterously, slinging an arm around Bran’s shoulders and ruffling his hair. Bran half-heartedly swatted him away, joining his siblings in their laughter as they reveled in the warm presence of their pack.


End file.
